Naked

Chapter 8

Seraphina sensed the moment he entered her chambers. She hadn't expected him to return, nor had she expected him to linger. She had assumed he would take one glance at her sleeping figure and leave—but he didn't.

Even with her eyes closed, she could feel his presence. She was an assassin; her senses were always sharp, always aware.

But then he moved closer.

Her pulse quickened, and she had to force herself to remain calm. Why did his presence always unnerve her? She had faced monsters, demons in human skin, and yet this man—this vampire—set her on edge in a way she couldn't explain. They said a body could always recognize a predator stronger than itself. Was that what this was? Intimidation?

She remained still, her breath even. He wasn't just standing there—he was examining something. Then it hit her. The cut.

Her fingers twitched beneath the sheets. The wound from before—the one she had inflicted on herself to lure the vampires out—it was still there. It hadn't healed because of the poisoned blade she'd used, the same poison deadly to both vampires and witches.

If he saw it, he would know she had done it on purpose. His suspicions would grow, and he'd never lower his guard around her again. She needed to think fast.

She sensed him pulling away, likely about to leave.

"Wondering how I got a cut on my skin?" she asked, her voice smooth and controlled.

She heard the shift in his stance. He hadn't expected her to be awake.

"It's a vampire claw mark, isn't it?" His voice was cold, sharper than before. Was he… angry?

"It's actually a knife mark," she admitted without hesitation. Lies wouldn't work on him; she needed to give him just enough truth to keep his suspicions at bay. "I'll be honest with you—I cut myself to draw them in. I needed to practice my skills, and they just happened to fall for my trap."

It wasn't entirely false. She had been testing herself. If she wanted his trust, she needed to appear as though she had nothing to hide.

She watched him closely, waiting for his reaction. His gaze was piercing, analyzing every word, every movement. Then, something shifted in his expression. The ice cold expression in his eyes calmed down, just slightly.

"They were rogues," she added. "I doubt you're mad that I helped you get rid of them."

He said nothing for a moment, but then turned. "Go to sleep," he muttered. "I'll have a nurse treat your wound tomorrow."

And with that, he walked out, never sparing her another glance.

Seraphina let out a quiet breath, relief settling in. For now, she had managed to make him believe her.

But for how long?

---

The Next Morning, Seraphina woke with an intense craving for fire fruit.

A rare fruit found only in the vampire kingdom, it had become her silent ritual—a reward after every kill. Sweet yet sour, a forbidden pleasure. It was the one thing from this land of bloodthirsty monsters that she actually liked.

She had skipped it last night after fighting the rogues. Maybe that was why the craving was so strong this morning.

After her morning bath and breakfast, she informed the maids she would be going for a walk.

"We'll accompany you, Your Highness," Irene insisted, her soft voice firm.

Seraphina's lips twitched in irritation. "I want to go alone. You can wait here."

"His Majesty has ordered us to escort you wherever you go," Irene said gently, but her persistence grated on Seraphina's nerves.

So the Vampire King didn't trust her.

Did he think mere human maids could keep her in check? If so, he was gravely mistaken.

She exhaled slowly, forcing a smile. "Fine. Follow me. If you can keep up."

As they climbed the mountain where the fire fruit grew, it didn't take long before the maids were gasping for air.

"Your… h-highness," Irene panted. "We'll… stay here and wait."

The others quickly nodded in agreement, their exhaustion clear.

Seraphina smirked. Finally.

"Alright then," she called over her shoulder. "I'll be back soon."

Once she was out of sight, she pulled off the bag she had carried and retrieved the simple clothes she had brought along. The gown Irene had insisted she wear was elegant but utterly impractical. It restricted her movement, and Seraphina hated feeling restrained.

She reached behind her, fingers working the tight knots of the gown's corset. Damn it, Irene. The woman had tied them far too tightly, and it took longer than expected to undo them.

Finally, the last rope came loose, and she let the gown fall to her feet. The cold mountain breeze kissed her bare skin, sending a small shiver down her spine.

She reached for the fresh set of clothes in her bag. Just as she was about to slip them on—

She heard Footsteps.

Her instincts flared.

She didn't turn. It must be Irene, she thought. She must have decided to be stubborn and follow me up here.

"I see you managed to climb up," she teased, a smirk forming on her lips. "You're more stubborn than I thought."

Silence.

Something was wrong.

The air changed, the presence behind her too still, too powerful.

"Not as stubborn as you."

The deep, firm voice sent a sharp jolt through her body.

Her heart lurched.

It wasn't Irene.

It was him.

The Vampire King.

And she was standing there, half-naked.

Fuck! No.